


Coming Home

by thevictorinox



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:12:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevictorinox/pseuds/thevictorinox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which after Reichenbach Falls, John was reinstated into the Army for protection against Moriarty's followers. After three years, he is finally coming home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

Three years, two months, seven days, twelve hours and thirty-two minutes, and every single second John kept track, it was one moment he had been apart from Sherlock. One moment that he had been running around the world in the safety of the Royal Army’s ranks, far away from the threat of Moriarty. One more moment he was alone. And the seconds kept ticking by and adding up. John, for the first time in his life was not a patient man, and after living with Sherlock those years ago, he could be considered a saint in that aspect, but as he sat in the back of the sleek black car, he was fidgeting. The streets of London glided past, the houses, the shops, some scenery familiar, some not. It didn’t matter, his mind was occupied. It was when he came away from his thoughts and realized the route was taking them nowhere near Baker Street that his brows knit together and he tilted his head.

 

“Where are we going?” He asked.  Sherlock’s brother glanced up from the newspaper he was scanning; it looked like Russian to John.

“Sherlock is out on a case, Lestrade informs me. I assumed you wouldn’t want to wait.”

“Still seeing Lestrade then?” Mycroft quirked a brow at him. “I haven’t seen or heard from anyone in London since I’ve been gone, that includes Lestrade.” 

“Ah, right. Well, yes, then you wouldn’t know about the wedding.” Mycroft smiled as he turned his eyes back to his paper.  “Six months, at the Holmes Estate, don’t let Sherlock try to get out of it.” John beamed.

“You say that like I have any control over Sherlock. But, Congratulations.” Mycroft offered a guarded smile.

“You have quite a bit more sway over my brother than you believe.”

“Well, after three years, we’ll see if I haven’t lost my touch.”

“ I’ll have Anthea deliver your things  to Baker Street. This is the third double homicide in a string of serial killings. It will put Sherlock in good humor, do have fun Captain Watson.” 

“Actually, it’s just Doctor again.”  Mycroft nodded curtly.

“Good bye John, and welcome back.”  John smiled as he stepped out from the car.  He walked up to the yellow tape.

 

“Excuse me Sir, but you can’t go in. This is a crime scene, I’m sure you’ve seen the tape.”

“It’s alright I know the detectives, I’m here to see-.”

“Sir, it’s a closed crime-“

“John Watson?” John heard the sharp feminine voice to his right and turned. “Is that really you?”

“Hello Sally.”

“My god it is you!” She smiled. “Where have you been? Military I heard, now I see that’s true.” John glanced down, he hadn’t even changed out of his fatigues, he had come straight off the plane.  Sally’s voice sounded a bit softer, but still annoyed when she spoke next.  “He’s been driving us all mad you know, without you to keep him in check.”

“I got reinstated into the army, apparently there was a shortage of medics.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he was serving in the military, but at Mycroft’s ministrations, and his most recent job description had very little to do with his medical background. John shifted on his feet, antsy and eager to find a certain consulting detective. “It seems like not much has changed. That can’t be true can it?”

“I got bumped to DI.”  John turned his head back Sally was a detective, a lot had changed. John wondered how much.

“Congratulations.  Does that mean Lestrade’s been promoted to Chief Inspector then?”

“No, he’s inside, they’ve been trying to promote him for years, he keeps turning it down. I think he likes being in the field too much to be chained to a desk.”

“Ah, can I go in?”

“Sure thing. ” Sally held up the tape as John ducked under. “Welcome Back, John.”  John smiled. “Lestrade, I’m sending a surprise up, try to keep freak where he is.” 

“Alright I’ll come down to the foyer.” The radio crackled back.

John walked up to the house, it was only a few moments before Lestrade appeared, looking the same as ever, perhaps with more silver in his hair and a few more lines on his face. John couldn’t help but think that they had something to do with the effect his absence had on Sherlock. Lestrade smiled warmly.

“You don’t look too surprised to see me.”

“Mycroft told me you were coming home last night. God, you’re a life-saver, it’s going to turn to blows between him and the new forensics kid.”

“Does he have any idea?”

“None.”

“Good.” They turned and walked up the staircase to a bed room. Lestrade leaned into the bedroom.

“Carrington,  there’s some evidence in the hall bath you need to take a look at, you can come back later when Sherlock is gone.” A moment later a young brown-haired man stalked past in blue paper coveralls. He stared down at John, then his eyes moved down to the combat boots on his feet.

“If this is another consultant best not track any sand in.” Lestrade rolled his eyes.

“He won’t now, go.” Lestrade said, pushing the man out of the door-frame before peaking back in the room. “Sherlock I’ve got some help for you, try to be civil.” Lestrade grinned and winked at John as he left for another part of the house. John took a breath and stepped into the room, it caught in his throat and became more of a strangled gasp when his eyes took in the scene. It was a mess of upturned furniture and torn sheets, walls painted with a myriad of different splatter patterns, two bodies were carefully arranged in the center. Beside them Sherlock was crouched, peering through his magnifier  at the fingers of the corpse of a woman, middle-aged, blonde, a bit on the heavier side, clothing was designer, John knew that but not sure what the latest fashions were.

“If you can’t handle the gore of the crime scene you’ll be no use to me.”  He intoned and snapped the magnifier closed, turning. “You might as well….leave.” His sentence had trailed off once he was completely upright and staring at John, pale blue eyes wide. “John…” The name fell from his lips at an almost-whisper.

“I’ve been gone for well-over three years and you want me to leave again? Not much of a welcome home.”

“Mycroft said you wouldn’t be home for another three months.”

“Got done with my tour early.”  Sherlock didn’t respond he just kept staring as if John was merely a mirage. John could see Sherlock’s eyes watering and felt his own doing much the same.  He shook his head and smiled, stepping his way through the blood and past the evidence tags towards the detective who met him half way.  The contact was instantaneous as John twisted his arms around the detective in a hug. He had forgotten how thin the consulting detective was or perhaps the sharpness of the bones and angles of his frame had become more pronounced in the time since he had left.  Sherlock had buried his face in the short, neat fuzz of John’s hair.

“Iraq, you were in Iraq most recently.” He pulled his face back, just now seeming to realize his close contact with John, yet not letting go just yet.. “Why would they send you there don’t they remember what happened the last time you were in the middle east?” Sherlock's eyes flitted over John's form, cataloging, taking stock, checking for injuries.

“I had to, its where my leads took me.”

“Where else?”

“The States, Ecuador, Morocco, South Africa, North Korea, and then, Iraq. I managed to avoid Afghanistan narrowly.”  The expression that flitted across of Sherlock’s face meant that this disturbed him. He realized John and stepped-back, his eyes were sweeping across John’s form now.

“I’ve managed to evade life-threatening injuries.  Only a few black eyes and some stitches from a run in with a jeep door.” Sherlock quirked a brow at that, the expression of curiosity followed after. “I’ll show you the scar later.” He seemed appeased by that. “Now, tell me what’s going on here.”

“Dull. I’ve figured out the serial killer’s pattern, his targets, his reasoning even, in your absence they’ve gotten cliché, John.”

“You haven’t changed at all.”

 

\------

 

They arrived back at Baker Street after all things of consequence were reported to Lestrade. It was late so visiting with Mrs. Hudson would have to wait until morning but John walked a bit too quickly up the stairs. Same old Baker, with new experiments, new papers, but the same vague scent of fire in the hearth and chemicals on the air. His chair was now occupied by the skull perched precariously onto the Union Flag throw pillow he noted on his way to put the kettle on.

“Replaced me with the Skull have you?”

“Hardly, only temporarily. In fact, Viktor is quite useless in the Medical opinion. Actually, in any opinion.”  Sherlock’s lip quirked in the corner as if he found that amusing and unsettling at the same time. 

“Well I’m back for good. No more RAMC.”  John smiled. “I’m retired for good. Your brother saw to that.”

“Honourable Discharge?”

“Of course.”  John said, squaring up his shoulders for a moment and smiling.  “Now I think I’ll return to my civvies.”  Sherlock was fiddling with something and only half-heard what John had said. It wasn’t until he heard John walk up the stairs to his room that he became alarmed.

“John! Wait!”

“You _did not_ turn my room into an experiment while I was gone!” John rounded on him at the top of the stairs.

“Erm, well, no. But I didn’t have time to clean up, I didn’t know you were coming back so soon.” Sherlock slotted himself between John and the door to the room. John narrowed his eyes.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“You won’t let me go into my room!”

“It’s not clean, there’s dust everywhere and-“

“Sherlock Holmes, I have just spent the last three years sleeping on everything from cement floors to the saddest excuse of a mattress the army can muster. So help me god I will sleep in my own bed tonight!” John could be downright dangerous when he wanted to be. 

“Just wait!” Sherlock was scrambling for an excuse, not exactly comfortable with being backed into a corner by  the shorter man.

“Dammit Sherlock,  You still haven’t changed at all!”

“You would be surprised.” Sherlock sighed, and opened the door behind him, stepping inside.  John peered in, his furniture was still there, a few boxes he had packed in the corner, and yet the bed was un-made with bedding that was his own, there were a few books stacked on the night stand and a familiar blue dressing-gown hung over the chair at his desk.

“Have you been keeping things in my room?” John paused.  “Have you been sleeping in my room?” John felt the anger soften and ebb away.

“I…”

“For how long?”

“A few weeks after you left. I came in here for one of your medical journals….I fell asleep reading it on the bed. Then, I just kept sleeping here.  My room seemed wrong.”  Sherlock fidgeted managing to gather all his limbs into looking like a small, shy child. John took that moment  to seize the man by his lapels and draw their lips together.

 

Something had changed at Baker Street, but to the both of them, it felt like coming home.


End file.
